Tranquil Beauty'
by chichi-tree
Summary: a story of mystery, deceit, espionage and the mesmerising; binding powers of love....


'Tranquil Beauty'  
  
The light of the July moon glowed a silver shade. It pierced through the darkness that engulfed the streets of Venice and illuminated them with the effect a single burning candle would have in a small, confined room. I leaned over my balcony, and peered into the canal below. A gleaming white sphere shivered upon the black, leather surface of the water, reflecting the clear image of the Italian moon that draped, each night, among the sporadic stars in the Italian sky. I drew a deep breath from a cigarette that hung limp between my lips, feeling the intoxicating fumes dissolve the heaviness that grew from my lungs like a tumour. The night was so placid and I was so perturbed in mind to enjoy its tranquil beauty. The murder of an Italian nobleman occurred the previous month and was evidenced to be the work of the Mafia. The nobleman was a member of this notorious and elusive organisation and had prepared to escape the country with the hoard of money he had earned from a crime without apportioning it with his accomplices. So, undoubtedly, the disloyalty saw nemesis in his death. It is difficult to conceive because they are portrayed by society as being purely sinister or malevolent, but the Mafia does not kill people for no reason; they do have principles, although they may not be moral; and that is why my mind was perturbed by the murder case I was presented with today. A middle-aged businessman was found dead in his home, brought to the end of his life by the Mafia's method of settling their victims: one shot in the head- simple. They also cut off a handful of hair and placed a white rose on his chest. However, the man's profile showed that he had no relation to the Mafia at all and for this reason, I was near certain to believe that the Mafia had not committed this second murder. My cigarette had nearly burned out after I awoke from my deep contemplation and so I savoured the potent fumes, letting it deluge my senses and mind before smouldering it with my foot and kicking it into the canal. I turned around to face my apartment: a dark, seemingly neglected and deserted room with newspaper cuttings pinned up upon the walls, covering the disintegrating wallpaper. I liked to submerge myself entirely into the cases I was working on, mentally, and a side effect of this was being submerged physically in paper, files and clothes strewn all over the floor and occasionally, ash and cigarette ends that over-flowed from the ashtray. Before I stepped into my den, I took a breath of the night breeze. It possessed a much different aroma to cigarettes. A sort of fresh, purified air tinged with the spice of coldness. Would it aid in purging my mind of the barrier to thinking more clearly? Since my cigarettes were not working as usual, I gave it a try and then entered my apartment. Sleep- would that escort me to another realm of thoughts to solve the crime.a sudden spark in my dreams? I didn't know about that but I knew my body would benefit from a little rest.  
  
I woke up in the morning to a fine, warm day. I lay on my back with my eyes open, gazing around at the newspaper articles that clung to nearly every square inch of the four walls and finally resting on one that read "Minding his own Business? - Businessman Takeshi Yamasaki murdered." There was a large picture of him and his wife, standing arm in arm. I needed more information about Yamasaki, and the way in which to obtain it suddenly struck me when I was staring at the carelessly cut out piece of paper that was being constantly tugged by the invisible hands of the wind; Takeshi's wife- Mrs Nakuru Yamasaki.  
  
I walked briskly towards the two wooden doors that sealed the entrance to my source of information and rang the golden bell four times. It took about a minute before a figure emerged from behind the doors. Her long brown hair cascaded to her hips and a pair of dark brown eyes filled with melancholy looked at me. She raised an eyebrow slightly, as if to question my arrival, but even with this purpose, the expression on her frail face was apathetic. Strangely, her cheeks were flushed and she was breathing heavily, most probably as a result of crying over the loss of her husband. "I am Syaoran Li, a detective, and just want to ask you a few questions about your husband." I said. "Can we go to the bar and discuss it. at Font Trevi's?" she replied. I didn't expect such an answer but I didn't mind, I needed a couple of drinks to soothe my stomach as I had forgotten about breakfast. "Sure," I answered and she disappeared behind the doors for a second, coming out again with a coat and beret on. Nakuru locked the doors and together we walked along the cobble paths to Font Trevi in silence. She walked ahead of me, clearly expressing that she didn't want to talk to me yet. When we arrived at the bar, the atmosphere was typically vociferous; the air was fumigated by the opaque smoke of cigarettes and its fragrance mingled with the potent smell of Italian wine and beer. I felt at home, relaxing into the familiar and enticing aroma that permeated the bar. Nakuru led the way to a small table at a far corner. "One whisky please," she called to a bypassing bar waiter. "I'll have one too," I added. She leaned back in her chair, making the table the target of her gaze. The features of her face etched into an expression devoid of emotion. The murder must have rendered her mind into a state of senility. I remained motionless and quiet in my seat opposite her; content to not desecrate the wall of silence she had created. I was also content to imbibe my whisky; addiction rekindled like a candle when the liquid flowed through my mouth. We sat in this manner for a while until she finally spoke. "What am I doing with my life?" The words were spoken in a soft tone. "Living it with strength." I replied. Nakuru grunted, as if to say, "Yeah right," the look in her eyes still distant. For hours we talked but I already had knowledge of everything she told me about Takeshi Yamasaki. However, I did learn something new and it was that a 'tranquil beauty' sat before me; the lurid, large brown eyes now imbued with a wistful gaze, and the silken olive skin upon the delicate face that reflected the lustre of the night in which I luxuriated. "I need to go now," Nakuru suddenly said after an eloquent conversation about her life with Takeshi. "Ok.my Nakuru. Shall we adjourn our meeting to a date in the near future? And your husband doesn't have to be the topic of our conversation. I have a lot of other things that I'd love to tell you." I grinned as I said this and a brief, volatile smile curved over her face. Nakuru stood up and walked to the entrance of the bar; her gait conveying a woman of elegance. I stayed at the table, watching her, because addiction was persistently agitating for another whisky. As she opened the door of the bar, an impetuous draught caught the end of her long, flowing coat, divulging the cold metallic glint of a gun that was sidling up her right boot. The sight plunged me into deep thought: why was she carrying a gun with her? Could I have been talking to the murderer of Takeshi Yamasaki? Jealousy? An Affair? Hate? There were only a few reasons why a woman would kill her husband. Nakuru had just left.where did she need to go?  
  
I restrained the rising urge for another drink and left the bar. I had to see where Nakuru was going. I followed her to a café a few streets from Font Trevi where she sat for at least half an hour, casting furtive glances in every direction until she finally left for home. When she had gone, I decided to walk to the police station where I worked as a detective and see what other information I could find about the Yamasakis. I delved my hands into the pocket of my cloak to find a cigarette and lighter. Smoking was one of the best ways that allowed me to block out the noise around me and concentrate on thinking things through in my head. Desultory images and ideas saw birth in my mind until they came to a concourse. Nakuru was obviously waiting for someone at the café. When I unexpectedly arrived at her door this morning, she was interested to see me for some reason, but, she already had a meeting with another person at that café so she insisted on going to Font Trevi, which was in proximity to the meeting place of her appointment.  
  
It was late in the evening when I arrived at the police station. Something had instigated much excitement in the air. "Hey Syaoran!" yelled Eriol over the cacophony, "We got a new workmate coming to our branch." "Uh.great," I remarked and went into my office, shutting out the commotion outside. "Nakuru, Nakuru, Nakuru.what kind of 'tranquil beauty' are you? A murderer who is nothing but fatal attraction or are you the woman for me?" I thought. The computer in front of me droned softly. I moved the mouse to de- activate the screen saver and to my surprise, I realised that someone had been on my computer. A message box appeared, reading: Are you sure you want to delete this file? I clicked 'no' and the file instantly materialised on the screen. It was a database on Nakuru Yamasaki. I read the information in wonder and as I did so, the unusual events of this morning were elucidated. Nakuru had accessed my computer and tried to delete the file so that I would have never known the fact that she was part of the Mafia. But, she could not finish her job because Eriol most likely entered the police station to start the day's work. She had to escape and get home quickly before anyone noticed her. When I, without a call, turned up at her house, Nakuru had returned home for a few minutes only because her face was still flushed and her breathing was heavy. She did not reject my asking her a few questions about her husband because she wanted to find out how much I knew about her and Takeshi. Nakuru was the murderer, but why did she want to kill her husband?  
  
I looked out the window. The moon, stars and the black satin curtain upon which they hung had taken their place in the sky and movement had begun to dissipate from the streets. I went out of my office to find that nearly everyone had gone home. It was time to take the ultimate step: convicting the criminal. A cold breeze had brewed in the city, stalking every person that wandered along the streets. I pulled the cloak tighter around my body as the frost in the air bit into my skin and sank to my bones. I walked passed the café Nakuru was at this morning and suddenly, the shot of a gun exploded from the morbid silence of the night. The sound had originated from somewhere very close by and I darted my eyes around the vicinity, finally spotting two dark figures on the Domani Bridge, above a canal, hostility spacing them metres apart. Nakuru was one of them. I could tell because of the familiar coat, beret and the meagre light that fell upon that beautiful face from the street lamp. She was yelling at the figure opposite her who was obscured in my vision by a tree. What could Nakuru be doing? I advanced towards the bridge, close enough to hear the argument between them. "Why did you lie to me for so long?" It was a deep, male voice and every word was pronounced with asperity. As I approached the foot of the bridge in stealth, I caught sight of the appearance of the man Nakuru was with but it was just not possible for it to be him.I was staring right at a man who was supposed to be dead, murdered by his own wife, Nakuru! Takeshi's eyes were burning with hatred, his pale face stark against the rich, black skin of the night. "TELL ME WHY, SAKURA KINOMOTO!" Takeshi practically screamed. I didn't even have time to consider the ludicrousness of him calling Nakuru by that name because he had raised the gun in his hand and prepared to shoot her. Automatically, I tore my gun from the belt around my waist and shot Yamasaki in the chest, causing him to fall lifelessly to the ground. The sound awakened sirens and after a while police officers and ambulance workers flooded the bridge. I went over to Nakuru who was sitting on the brick ledge of the bridge. Every time I saw her, the expression she wore on her face was apathetic. "Sakura Kinomoto?" I asked, the name foreign in my mouth. She knew what I was talking about and the first words she said broke out into a story of her life of espionage, fear and deceit. Sakura was a spy for the Italian Intelligence Unit. She married Takeshi Yamasaki who was part of the Mafia, so that she could warn the Intelligence of their plans and crimes. The victim of the murder the previous month was supposed to be Takeshi but he eluded his death so the Mafia forced Sakura to kill her husband. She could not bear to do so because she had grown fond of him and together, they faked his death by disguising the body of an unimportant member of the Mafia. In the past few weeks, Takeshi had grown suspicious of Sakura and found out that she was from the Italian Intelligence Unit. He had arranged to meet her at the Café to question her but he never turned up. Sakura tried to delete the file on my computer because if I had found out about her relation with the Mafia, I would have gone to arrest her straight away, as I did. Doing so, the Italian Intelligence would reveal that she was a spy under cover and she would be released, enhancing the suspicion Takeshi already had of her. "What am I doing with my life?" she asked me after recounting what she had been through in the past few years. "You're still living it with strength." I told her. "And by the way, as the new person coming to my branch, I'll look after you personally," I said with a grin and for the first time, she was not drowned in melancholy but I knew that a fire of hope and freedom burned in her smile.  
  
The light of the July moon glowed a silver shade. It pierced through the darkness that engulfed the streets of Venice and illuminated them with the effect a single burning candle would have in a small, confined room. I leaned over my balcony, peering into the canal below and saw the reflection of my 'tranquil beauty' standing beside me, in my arms, and the tranquil beauty of the Italian night around me. The night: what a perfect time for love and murder. 


End file.
